


what it takes to break us

by lydia_rogue



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Achilles and Patroclus swap places from canon, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gratuitous Icarus Allegories, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Megaera is here but she is on the job so she's strictly in an antagonistic role, POV Alternating, no beta we die like zagreus, transgender Thanatos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29183037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lydia_rogue/pseuds/lydia_rogue
Summary: Who breaks when he discovers Patroclus gave up eternity in paradise for him?Who breaks when he must teach Zagreus to fight for his life?Who breaks when Patroclus sees him off for the first time?Who breaks when Zagreus stumbles upon his chamber in the far reaches of Elysium?Who breaks when even in succeeding, he fails?And when they break, who will put them back together again?you were my Icarusbut I never agreedto be your Sun
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Hades Video Game), Achilles/Patroclus/Zagreus (Hades Video Game), Achilles/Zagreus (Hades Video Game), Patroclus/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 41
Kudos: 99





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Canon, still: Patroclus did not make it into Elysium
> 
> Me, still: Fuck. You.

_Sing to me, o muse  
the tale of Icarus  
a warning - a fable -  
against pride  
and  
hubris_

There are whispers circulating the underworld - rumors, speculation, perhaps some fact, of what happened at Troy after Patroclus died. 

He tries not to listen to the rumors - he knows, for a fact, that many of the stories the shades tell each other are simply untrue. He had _been there_ and seen what had happened. 

But there was one rumor - one _whisper_ \- that held true for every retelling of the story. 

Achilles, son of Peleus and Thetis, demi-god and hero, his erastes, is dead. 

It is easy to dismiss the rumors as untrue. 

Patroclus knows of what the gods had promised Achilles. Glory beyond death - a spot in Elysium.

As Achilles is not here to walk the Elysium fields beside him, the idea that he is dead was all but laughable. (It didn’t hurt that the man was damn near immortal.) 

But, time moves strangely in the Underworld, and Achilles was no true immortal, so as the years seemed to pass, and Patroclus still wanders the green fields alone, doubt begins to creep in. 

_I just want to know he’s okay,_ he tells himself. 

They had both said a lot of unwise things in anger, the last time they’d seen one another in life. 

_Achilles, demanding to know why Patroclus was so willing to continue fighting this hopeless war, asking how many more years they’d spend together outside the walls of Troy._

_Patroclus, in Achilles’ armor, calling him a coward, telling him if he won’t fight, Patroclus will go in his place._

_He_ had said a lot of things he regretted, and now they were the last things he had said to Achilles. 

To find out more of Achilles’ fate, he would have to seek out Lord Hades himself and petition him for more information. 

Getting to the house wasn’t difficult - the boatman, Charon, made regular trips to the god’s house (more of a palace, really). 

As he entered the building, his form shifts subtly, and the spear he carries vanishes into thin air. 

“You can’t have weapons in here, but you’ll get it back when you leave!” A pale god with white, curly hair, spoke, stretching as if he just woke from a nap. Hypnos, god of sleep, was apparently in charge of the receiving line. “What can I help you with today?”

“I’m here to find out the fate of Achilles, son of Peleus and Thetis,” Patroclus says with a slight bow. “Do I need to seek an audience with Lord Hades for that?” He can’t help but think that Hypnos looks so _young_ \- could gods be young?

“Oooooh, Achilles!” Hypnos’ eyes went wide. “I remember him, there was a bunch of arguing then, kept me awake. He was sent to Tartarus.”

His heart falls to his stomach. “Tartarus?”

What had happened after his death? How had Achilles fallen so far so fast? 

“Yeah, I remember Megaera talking about him recently - he broke a _lot_ of oaths and stuff when he was alive and so -” 

“Hypnos, my child.” An elegant woman steps between them, long, flowing black hair floating around her - much like her dress. “Why don’t you go back to ensuring the shades who have come to speak with Lord Hades are ready for their audience.” She turns her intense gaze to Patroclus. “If you have questions about the fate of Achilles, Patroclus, son of Menoetius, I am happy to answer them for you.” 

Patroclus lets her gently guide him away, desperately trying to remember his Cthonic gods, even as he can’t quite wrap his head around the fact Achilles had been sent to _Tartarus_ , much less how this goddess knows of him.

He offers the goddess a deep bow. “I do have questions, my Lady, but I must confess I am at a loss as to where to start.” He hopes she will not be offended by the fact he does not know who she is. 

“I can tell you what I know, then.” She looks away. “My daughters, the Fates, were not kind to your Achilles, and by extension, you. His fate was set in stone long before he was born. Unfortunately, he tried to defy the gods’ will and in doing so broke many of his oaths - oaths to you, to his men, to the gods…” 

Patroclus remembers her now, Nyx, Night Incarnate. “They withdrew their favor,” he says, starting to understand. 

“They did,” she confirms. “Which left him to be judged the same as any mortal.” 

They left him after his fall from grace, as if Achilles’ fall wasn’t their fault. 

“Is there anything that can be done?” he asks.

“You may, like any shade, petition Lord Hades for leniency. In many cases such as this one, it is an exchange - you would take his place in Tartarus, while he would take your place in Elysium.” 

Patroclus blanches. Casting _himself_ into Tartarus is a tall ask, and what good would it do - they would still be separated, one confined to torture, the other to paradise.

“However, I know Lord Hades has been looking for additional help in the house to manage the shades that come through, as well as a tutor for his son - perhaps it could be a condition of employment within the house.” Lady Nyx smiles at him. “Talk to my son, he will be able to arrange for an audience with Lord Hades.” 

Her gaze is almost unsettling as she stares at him. 

“Thank you, Lady Nyx,” he says with another bow. 

After speaking with Hypnos, he wanders the house aimlessly, waiting for his chance to petition the Lord of the Underworld. 

What would he say? Should he offer his services first, or ask for Achilles to be moved first? How did a mortal petition the God of the Dead?

The possibilities swirled around his head, and he doesn’t have a good answer when, too quickly, the waiting shades are asked to line up. Patroclus falls into line. 

It’s not long before he’s standing before Lord Hades, staring up at the god. 

“What is it?” he asks, leaning back in his throne, drying quill in one hand. 

“Sir,” he says, bowing. “I am Patroclus, son of Menoetius, and I am here to petition for leniency in the case of Achilles, son of Thetis and Peleus.”

Lord Hades sits up at that. “And what, pray tell, do you have to offer in exchange, should I grant that?”

“My lord, I would offer you my service if Achilles were allowed to take my place in Elysium.” 

Lord Hades cocked his head. “You do not wish to take his place in Tartarus?” 

Patroclus swallowed hard. “I - I would consider it, if that were the only option, but I thought you might have use for a guard or master-at-arms first, my lord.” 

“Do you have any experience with teaching, shade?” 

“Teaching combat, my lord?” 

“Yes.”

“Some.”

“You understand that if you accept this, you will never step foot in Elysium again, and Achilles will never be allowed to come to the House of Hades, correct?”

“Yes, my lord.” 

Hades sits forward, dips his quill, and scrawls out several lines on a parchment. “Sign this,” he says.

The pact was simple - he would be given employment in the House of Hades, guard, teacher and ‘other duties as assigned’. In exchange, he would be given a room, basic comforts, money he could use for trinkets from Charon or “the broker”. He would not be allowed to go into Elysium ever again.

And Achilles would take his spot in the verdant fields. 

It wasn’t a fair trade, but nothing in either of their lives had ever been fair. 

No matter how he might have blamed Achilles for his death when he first stepped into Elysium, Patroclus still loved him and could not leave him to torture 

At least here, he’ll have a purpose, something that will help him not lose himself in his thoughts, or die a second time in the river Lethe. 

Here wasn’t eternal paradise, but if it kept Achilles out of Tartarus, it was enough.

Hopefully Achilles would some day understand.

_but don’t tell me  
of his broken wings -  
sing to me of the man  
who so loved the sun  
he forgot himself._

* * *

The dead do not bleed. 

Achilles is out for their blood all the same. 

Fighting is the only thing he has left within his control, even denied his spear and armor.

He does not know how long he’s been here, trapped in the depths of the Underworld, but he knows that if he is not careful, he will lose himself here. 

His time is split between being treated to the tender mercies of Megaera and Tisiphone and fighting his fellow shades. 

In the brief moments to himself, he whispers reminders of who he was, telling himself stories from his childhood, reminding himself of the beautiful moments with Patroclus. He’s seen too many of his fellow shades lose themselves to the chaos of Tartarus to not _try_.

He does not remind himself of his failings at Troy.

He does not need the reminder. 

He’s earned his place, here in Tartarus, he knows.

Megaera, punisher of the oathbreakers, makes sure of that. 

If he had kept his oaths, if he had fought alongside Patroclus… 

She is the one who whispers the reminders of Troy, of his rage, whether he is alone or at her mercy.

If he hadn’t dragged his beloved, his eromenos, into the war in the first place…

He tries not to think too hard and tries not to lose himself in the fighting. 

A whip crack breaks up the fighting, and Megaera is standing there, pointing at Achilles. “You, with me.” 

It’s worse to resist, and so he follows. 

It’s easy to get lost in the shifting chambers, but she leads him with confidence - and with her whip stored on her hip, which is unusual - she usually has no qualms about using it across his back while they walk. 

But today he is spared from such punishments, and he tries not to let his nervousness show. 

The trip is made in silence, and ends, not at one of her preferred out of the way chambers, but at a dock on the river Styx, where Charon is waiting for them. 

He makes an incomprehensible sound. 

“Shade, your spear and armor are there,” Megaera says, pointing to a weapons cabinet. “Anything you leave behind will not be returned to you.” 

Achilles quickly gathers his things, trying not to think - 

_the feel of the spear going through Hector’s body_

\- of the last time he held his spear.

He pushes them away and swiftly dons his armor, leaving nothing behind. 

Megaera scoffs. “I can’t say I’ll miss you, but I guess someone out there is looking after you.” 

“Please, Fury, help me understand what is happening,” he asks, gripping his spear tightly. 

“You’re being transferred, oathbreaker.”

“Transferred?”

She gestures to Charon’s boat. “To Elysium.” She pauses, smile growing as sharp as her whip. “Unless you’d rather stay.” 

It doesn’t explain anything, but he boards Charon’s boat without complaint. He still want to know _why_ , but he feels like Megaera wouldn’t tell him even if she knew. 

“Is that where Patroclus is?” he asks as Charon begins to push off. 

The only response he gets is another scoff from her, and an unintelligible groan from Charon. 

“Thank you,” he says, doing his best to keep his balance. 

The trip upriver feels as though it takes less time than the original trip to Tartarus, but perhaps it’s the fact he knows where he’s going, and that he’s seen it all once before. 

Perhaps he should ask more questions and try to find out _why_ , but he can’t find himself able to hold on to such complex thoughts. He’s only known pain and battle for so long, he can’t focus. 

When, finally, they reach Elysium, he disembarks Charon’s boat with a quiet thank you - it never served to be impolite to gods, after all - and took off in a random direction. 

The fields are not empty, but here he is known, _recognized_ , and so the warriors avoid him, seemingly knowing better than to try and go toe-to-toe with one of the greatest warriors to have ever lived. 

His grip on his spear tightens. Perhaps he won’t have to fight here.

Despite the river Lethe’s presence, it seems as though more of the shades here retain their memories than they had in Tartarus, and so he asks. 

_Have you seen Patroclus?_

_No, he should be here somewhere though._

_Have you seen Patroclus?_

_I’m sorry, I don’t know the shade of whom you speak._

_Have you seen Patroclus?_

_Not for some time._

He feels like poor Echo, voice lost to all but a few words, as he all but begs for word of his beloved. But instead of losing himself to just those words, a rage starts to bubble up inside him once more. 

Why had the gods separated them? 

Had they not suffered enough? 

He falls to his knees beside the river Lethe, letting out a feral scream, channeling his fury and rage into his voice. 

Perhaps, in another life, he would have lost his nerve and drunk deep of the river of forgetfulness, left his pain on the banks and become another exalted warrior of the battlefields. 

But in that moment, his screams attracted a splitter, an angry soul like him, one who had never heard of the famed Achilles, and as he knelt on the grass, attacks him, drawing him out of his depressive rage. 

Instinct brings him to his feet and he turns on the witch, pouring his anger and rage into his attacks, neatly dispatching the unfortunate soul who had attacked him. 

He supposes Elysium is not so different from Tartarus in a way - there are still fights to be won and blood to be shed. 

If he cannot have Patroclus, his eromenos, he can, at least, have this.

_sing to me of the complicated,  
unbroken man who lost himself  
in the sun’s loving embrace._

* * *

Patroclus feels like there are many things he could complain about his posting in the House of Hades, but surprisingly, boredom was not one of them. 

He wasn’t needed as a guard - not when Cerberus, Lord Hades and at least one Fury frequented the house - nevermind Night Incarnate and the three young godlings - but the godlings certainly kept him on his toes. 

Time moves strangely in the Underworld, but a god’s relationship with time was even stranger. 

Sleep and Death were twins, and yet Hypnos seemed years younger most days, like a child on the edge of puberty, needing help from his mother to stay on task. Death, on the other hand, had always been quiet and broody, just on the precipice of adulthood, seemingly as mature as Nyx herself. 

And then there was his ward, Zagreus. 

By mortal terms, Zagreus had probably been about 17 or 18 when Patroclus joined the household, younger than Nyx’s twins, but still not a child. 

All three of the godlings are older than Patroclus, but their youth means they all look up to him as a mentor of some sort.

The first time he’d met Zagreus, he wasn’t sure what to make of the young godling. A gangly teen who had carefully positioned himself just behind his father so he couldn’t be seen in Lord Hades’ peripheral vision.

Patroclus had been summoned to a courtyard, one clearly built for weapons training, with targets, practice dummies, weapons cabinets and more. 

“Boy.” His employer’s booming voice no longer made him flinch, but Zagreus cringed. “This is Patroclus, a mortal shade. He will be your combat teacher. You are to listen to him and follow his directions.” Lord Hades looked back and pushed Zagreus towards Patroclus, who automatically reached out to steady him. “I expect regular reports on his progress,” Lord Hades said, eyes boring into Patroclus before leaving without further instruction.

Zagreus stared up at him, green and red-and-black eyes blinking rapidly. “So when do we start, sir?” 

“Well, Prince, we can start right now if you’d like.”

Zagreus grinned, though it was a little strained, and he looked over his shoulder, as if to ensure his father was really gone. “Of course, sir.”

Patroclus made a promise to himself then: he would do everything he could to make Zagreus feel safe and welcome when they worked together. 

So after each session, he sits and talks with Zagreus, answering his endless questions about the surface, about mortals, about what the sun looks like, and more.

“Can I ask about something else?” Zagreus asks one day. 

“Of course, Zagreus.” He tries to use the prince’s name whenever he can, knowing most nicknames, even affectionate ones, make him flinch. On the surface, they may have become erastes and eromenos - protector and beloved - but the thought makes him ache for his erastes, his Achilles.

The god squirms a bit. “What is love like?” 

Ah.

He should have been expecting this question, given Zagreus’ age. It’s not like he has anyone else he can ask. 

“Well…” He sighs. How do you explain love to someone whose frame of reference was the House of Hades? Patroclus almost wants to chicken out and tell Zagreus to talk to his mother about it, but that went against everything he had been trying to build with the young god. “What kind of love?” he starts with, knowing the godling had learned a lot about his divine heritage from Lady Nyx, including at least the basics of Aphrodite’s domain.

Zagreus ducks his head. “Romantic.” 

He thinks to Achilles, again. They had moved the world for one another. “It’s everything,” he says, eyes losing focus as he stares at the wall. “When you love someone who loves you back, you can do anything together.” 

“Did you have someone?”

“Yes,” he says, more to himself. But this wasn’t something he should keep from Zagreus. “We spent our lives together, and he made even the horrors of war more bearable.” The nights they spent in each other’s arms, forgetting the terror and pain of the day made life worth living when the war felt like it was too much. 

He blinks and refocuses on Zagreus, who is smiling at him. “Thank you. I didn’t know who else to ask, sir, so I appreciate it.” 

Patroclus isn’t sure he said anything that profound, but if that’s what Zagreus needed to hear, he wouldn’t complain. 

He’s just glad the godling felt safe enough to come to him with the question. He gives Zagreus a hug, heart breaking a little at how he leans into it, letting it linger longer than he really should. “You can talk to me about anything, okay?” 

“Thank you, sir,” he says again before they part ways. 

Zagreus takes it to heart, apparently, and tells the other godlings Patroclus is a good person to talk to about personal matters.

Death approaches him one day not long after the conversation about love with Zagreus, carrying a pair of scissors, long hair shorn haphazardly. “Can you help?”

Patroclus has cut folks hair before, so he has Death turn around and begins to even out the choppy cut. 

“My name is Thanatos,” Death says without prompting as Patroclus trims the white hair. “And I am a _god_.”

He doesn’t miss the emphasis on the masculine version of the word. He shouldn’t be surprised, he supposes, as if there’s one thing he’s learned in all his years as a mortal and shade, it’s that the gods are not so different than the mortals that worship them. “Thanatos,” he says. “It’s a good name, my lord.” 

He feels the tension seep out of the god’s stance. “Zagreus said you’d understand.” 

“I’m not going to pretend to understand,” he corrects. “But you know yourself, and I can respect that.” 

For a moment there’s only the quiet snip of scissors. 

“Is this something mortals go through?”

“Sometimes,” he says, running his fingers through Thanatos’ hair to check the length. It’s largely even, falling to just below his earlobes. “It’s not common, rarer than men like myself - those who love other men as well as women,” he adds, realizing Thanatos may not know. That particular personality quirk seems to be more common in gods than mortals. 

Thanatos startles slightly, turning towards Patroclus. “What about both?”

“I didn’t know any folks myself, but war was a poor place to talk about such things,” he says. “Your hair is even, now. If you want to go shorter, we can, but you’ll want to bring a razor to do that.”

Thanatos turned, looking much softer and more open than he did most days, almost vulnerable. “Thank you.” 

Patroclus isn’t sure what to say, wanting to offer the god a hug, but knowing Thanatos isn’t likely to accept one. 

The moment is interrupted by Zagreus dashing into the west hall, eyes going wide when he sees Thanatos’ hair. “I like your hair, it suits you!”

“It does,” Patroclus agrees, reaching out to squeeze Death’s shoulder and hand back the scissors. “If you need anything else, Thanatos, let me know.”

He nods, somber look back, and he leaves with Zagreus.

Patroclus’ heart aches at the sight of the two of them, remembering being a young man and uncertain of the feelings he was having. 

He can only hope to be as kind to Zagreus (and, to a lesser extent, Thanatos) as Achilles had been to him. 

(Patroclus does not follow that thought through to the logical conclusion of how he and Achilles and he had ended up in each other’s arms.)

_tell me the tale of a man  
whose fate was destined  
to not be his own.  
Sing to me, o muse, of Icarus and his beloved sun._

* * *

In looking for Patroclus, word of Achilles’ presence in Elysium had gotten out, and plenty of shades, eager to prove themselves against _the great Achilles_ and, after the initial confrontation with the witch, he found himself drawn into fights regularly. 

Shades who had long since forgotten themselves were eager to try their hand against Achilles. 

While he never sought out the battles, Achilles found them to be a welcome distraction from his own thoughts. It would have been easy, he thinks, to lose himself in the depths of his darkest thoughts otherwise.

He ends up finding a small chamber with a convenient fountain for healing and lets the shades come to him. 

The shades sometimes leave various trinkets and gifts. They are often things he doesn’t need: healing items from the well of Charon and food, but occasionally they bring him something from the surface: a book, a bedroll, equipment to keep his spear in perfect condition.

Occasionally, he hears announcements from the stadium, which helps him track the passage of time. The announcements are about various star-studded fights, most of them featuring the “Champions of Elysium”. 

Several of the shades that seek him out suggest he tries his own hand at the stadium fights. 

_You could be the Champion of Elysium if you wanted._

_You were the most powerful and famous warrior in the world, you can be the same in the afterlife, if you want._

_I’d much rather cheer you on than Theseus when I watch the fights._

Achilles finds himself wondering if he should - does he want to see his name on the stadium’s banner, hear the crowd call out his name? 

Fame and glory, to be beloved and lauded as a hero… In life, it seemed so reasonable. He had already been born a demi-god, why not pursue the glory that came with it?

He’d thought it would buy him a life of luxury and comfort with Patroclus.

It hadn’t.

And what good would it do him here, now? 

Glory had lost him Patroclus in life; he would not win back his beloved by pursuing it in death. 

So while he ignores the stadium, the stadium does not ignore him. 

He supposes word gets around - the great Achilles, in Elysium, where he belongs.

When the gate creaks open, he goes to greet the visitor - more often than not, a shade looking to fight. 

This time, it’s a pair - a short, blond man and a minotaur, the latter armed with a huge axe and the former a spear not unlike Achilles’ own. 

“Hail, warrior!” the human says. “I am Theseus, the Champion of Elysium!” He raises his hands up as if he’s expecting… accolades? Name recognition? After a moment, he continues. “And this is Asterius, bull of Minos.” 

Achilles gives his spear a lazy spin. “And so you’re here to challenge me?” he asks. Their names mean little to him beyond recognizing the champion title. 

“You wish to fight me _here_?” Thesus does not seem too happy at the prospect. Perhaps it is the lack of an audience?

Achilles sighs. “I have no wish to fight you, here or anywhere,” he says. “I have no use for glory or titles.” 

_Particularly not a title as useless as ‘Champion of Elysium,’_ Patroclus would have added, were he here.

Asterius nods, as if he understands. “If you change your mind, the King and I will happily see you on the battlefield at the Colosseum.”

Shrugging Achilles goes back to the bank of the Lethe and casts a fishing line. “Don’t hold your breath waiting for me. Again, I have no want, nor need for glory or titles.” 

“Then you concede that I am the true champion of Elysium?” Theseus asks. 

“Yes.”

“So be it, come Asterius, our fans are waiting for us.” 

Achilles raises an eyebrow as the two leave. He hopes he had never been so insufferable in his pursuit of glory.

_Sing to me of the Sun  
and his warm embrace  
and how he could not  
change his nature_

* * *

There’s a corner of the training room, he’s noticed, that his eyes slide over, as if he’s not supposed to see what’s there. 

It looks like the other three corners of the training room, and yet, when Patroclus does a slow scan of the room, his eyes skip a section about two meters wide, even when he tries to concentrate on it.

Zagreus has never mentioned it, but the godling should never be accused of being extraordinarily observant. 

At the end of a training session with Zagreus, Patroclus heads to the corner and reaches a hand out. While he’s fairly certain he’ll simply reach the wall, there’s always the chance he _doesn’t_. 

Stranger things have happened in the House of Hades. 

Instead of finding the wall, his hand finds a wooden _something_ that sits about a half a meter away from it. 

Carefully feeling around the edges, he recognizes it as a weapons cabinet, not unlike the several that sit, visible, in the room. 

It opens readily when he finds the handles - a distant part of him is surprised that the cabinet was not also locked, but he is far more interested in the weapons he can now see.

Six weapons, each emanating a power so great he finds himself nearly trembling just from being in their presence. 

“I see you found something.” Nyx’s voice makes him jump. “Are they what you were looking for?” 

“My lady - I…” Patroclus bows deeply, unsure of what to say. He’s not sure his employers will take kindly to him nosing about, even though the training room is part of his duties. 

She doesn’t say anything more, clearly waiting on an answer. 

“I’m not sure I was looking for anything in particular, Lady Nyx. I noticed the strangeness in the corner and I wanted to know what it was.” 

Nyx walks over to the open cabinet, letting the shroud drop from it completely so he can see the full piece of furniture. “They have a way of making themselves known to people,” she says. “I am not upset with you. I recognized when my shroud had been breached and the arms’ auras were in the open again.” She closes the cabinet doors and the shroud settles back down around it. 

This time, however, Patroclus can still faintly make out the edges of the cabinet. “My daughters told me to put them here. They said they would make themselves known when the time is right.” 

Patroclus tries not to shiver under Nyx’s intense gaze. “You will know when the time is right to use them.” 

“Lady Nyx… those weapons…” Patroclus starts, then stops. He’s not sure of all of them, though the years spent fighting along Achilles as he wielded Varatha meant he recognized the spear. 

More disturbingly, he recognized the sixth one as the unusual Daedelus-forged weapon he had been training Zagreus to use, akin to some sort of bow that ran on explosives. “I’m training Zagreus to use them, aren’t I?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “They felled Titans, once. What will he use them for, Lady Nyx?” 

She looks away, staring at something Patroclus cannot see. “I don’t know. I am disinclined to ask my daughters what lies ahead for young Zagreus as I know our fates are intertwined. I have learned not to ask them too many questions, lest they have answers for me.” She turns her gaze back to him. “All you can do is prepare him to the best of your abilities.” 

“How long have you known about this? Did you know I’d be training Zagreus for this when I first came to the house? Did you know what Lord Hades would be asking of me?”

There is a flicker of power from Nyx, in which Patroclus is suddenly aware he is standing before a goddess, as old as time itself and more powerful than he could ever imagine. 

Stubbornness keeps him standing straight, even as his knees want to buckle. 

“Do not presume that Lord Hades has anything to do with the weapons in this room. When the Fates share things with me, I know that it is bigger than any one god or realm. No, I did not know you would be training young Zagreus to fight for any reason beyond basic training for a prince and god, but even if I had known, I would not have changed my course.” 

The power in the room lessens, and Nyx’s expression grows fond. “But neither would I have asked this of anyone else, had I known. Whatever my child will be facing in the coming years, I have faith that your teachings will guide him through it. I have ensured that you will have access to them if you need them. I trust you will not remove them from this room until the appropriate time.” 

“Thank you, Lady Nyx, for the trust you’ve placed in me,” Patroclus says. “I’ll do my best to prepare Zagreus for whatever awaits him.” 

She smiles and disappears. 

It’s only then Patroclus collapses to the training room floor, staring up at the ceiling. 

He could accept training Zagreus to fight in a way that was befitting his station as a prince and a god. But those weapons… 

Varatha was used to fell the Titans, long ago. He has no doubt the other armaments were used in the same way.

Those weapons were not wielded lightly. 

He’s not sure he’s ready to send Zagreus off to fight a war.

_tell me the tale of the Sun,  
helpless as he watched:  
unable to save his Icarus  
from himself._

* * *

After the (admittedly strange) conversation with Theseus, Achilles realizes he should go looking for Patroclus in earnest, beyond simply asking whatever shades he encounters. Hopefully enough time has passed that Patroclus be amenable to hearing him apologize, even if he can’t find himself able to forgive Achilles. 

He packs up the few items he cares enough about to keep and starts to wander through Elysium, though this time with more purpose than he had when he first arrived. 

He heads to the docks where there are a number of shades milling about, waiting on Lord Charon’s arrival. Achilles tries to ignore the specifics, but it’s clear he is not the only person seeking an audience with Lord Hades. 

He’s even got a few obols on hand just in case Lord Charon expects payment for these trips - no one seems to actually know one way or the other. 

But when the boatman finally arrives and the waiting shades begin to board, Lord Charon refuses to let him on. 

“Please,” Achilles says, offering the handful of obols. “I can pay, I just need to see Lord Hades.” 

<You are not allowed in the House of Hades.>

Last time he’d encountered Lord Charon, he hadn’t been able to understand the words, but now they are as clear as day.

“I don’t understand,” Achilles says, though he stops trying to board the boat, unwilling to so openly defy a god.

<You have been barred from the House of Hades. That is a condition of your eternity in Elysium.>

“But I never asked to be moved to Elysium. I just want to know what happened to Patroclus, please.” 

<I will let Lord Hades know you have requested an audience.>

“Thank you,” Achilles says, watching helplessly as the boat pushes off and makes its way down river. It wasn’t what he wanted, but it would have to be enough.

When he’d first come to Elysium, he’d still been half-delirious from the war and then his stay in Tartarus. He had never stopped to question or consider _why_ he’d been moved - or what it might have taken to negotiate such a move. 

Patroclus’ seeming absence from Elysium suddenly hits differently. Surely Patroclus, hero of the Trojan war, had made it into the exalted fields. 

But perhaps the pain had been too much, and he had drunk from the Lethe and forgotten it all. 

But that doesn’t fit with what Achilles knows of his eromenos. They had suffered through a lot, and Patroclus had always seemed to weather it better. 

_Or perhaps it was because you had yet to betray him._

He tries to ignore the voice in the back of his head as he heads back to the glade he’s begun to call home. 

If Patroclus in Elysium, he would know where to find Achilles, when he was ready to seek him out.

_Sing to me, o muse, of the Sun and his Icarus  
a story, a tale  
of life, death  
and deciding your own fate._

* * *

It’s not often anymore that Patroclus is able to knock Zagreus on his ass. 

Today, however, he does it three times in rapid succession. 

Patroclus helps Zagreus up again. “Godling, now is neither the time nor place to be on your back,” he gently admonishes. 

Zagreus flushes, but doesn’t lift his weapon. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t think my heart’s in it today.” 

“Then there is always another day.” Patroclus puts his spear back on the weapons rack. “What’s on your mind, godling?” 

Zagreus does the same, then falls inelegantly to the floor, staring up at the ceiling. Patroclus sits down next to him. 

“You never met my mother, did you?” 

“Lady Nyx?” Patroclus asks, brow furrowing, sensing now was not the time to tease Zagreus.

“My birth mother, I mean,” he says, propping himself up on his elbows. “Queen Persephone.” 

That’s a name Patroclus has never heard of before. “No, I wasn’t aware Lady Nyx isn’t your birth mother.” 

“Apparently she left right after I was born, left for the surface, I mean, and I don’t know why.” He falls back flat. “It makes me think…” he trails off with a sigh. “Maybe I don’t belong here either. What if I was never meant to be here? I don’t have lordship over any sort of domain, I can’t even hold down the most basic of office jobs in the house…” Zagreus throws an arm over his face. “Maybe I’d be better off on the surface, with her.” 

“What did Lord Hades have to say about that?” 

The bark of laughter from Zagreus was too sharp to hold any humor. “Remember when your shift started about a week ago and the great hall was trashed?” 

Patroclus did remember that - he’d even helped poor Dusa with some of the cleaning. “That’s what happened when you tried talking to him about it?” 

Zagreus nods. “He started yelling, so I started yelling, Cerberus got distressed…” Zagreus gestures as if to say ‘And you know the rest.’

Cerberus could be extremely destructive when distressed; he just usually didn’t tear up the great hall in response. 

(His preferred room for destruction is the lounge.)

Patroclus puts a comforting hand on Zagreus’ shoulder. “You don’t have to stay here godling. If you think you don’t belong here, there has to be a way out.” 

Another humorless chuckle. “Ah yes, escape from the underworld. I’m sure that will go great.” 

“If there’s anyone who could do it, godling, it would be you.” 

Zagreus sits back up. “You really think so, sir?” 

“I think you could, you’re a good fighter - best I’ve ever trained.” Zagreus’ eyes narrow at that, apparently remembering Patroclus had never actually trained a warrior before him. “You should talk to Lady Nyx about this, I’m sure she’d be able to help you more than I could.” 

“You’ve helped so much, sir,” he says, pulling his knees up to his chest. “But I’ll talk with her, she can probably help with some other things too.” 

Patroclus smiles, giving himself a moment before speaking so he is sure his voice won’t tremble. “Let me know if there’s anything more I can help you with, godling. I’m not sure I can teach you more you won’t learn battling your way to the surface, but I’ll help you any way I can.” 

“Thank you, sir. I think I might just rest for now, figure out what I’ll say to Mother Nyx…” 

They both stand and stretch, then Zagreus gives him an impromptu hug before they head back to the main areas of the house. 

Patroclus, for his part, tries not to think about what it would mean for him if Zagreus left the house permanently. The godling is one of the few bright spots in his days here. Could he really stand in the West Hall for eternity?

_Tell me, muse, what stories can be told  
of those Icarus left behind?  
of those he was ripped away from  
through no choice of his own._

* * *

The next time Achilles has a famous visitor to his little spot in a corner of Elysium, it’s the same bull who had originally accompanied Theseus. 

Asterius arrives, unarmed, with a bottle of ambrosia. “The King tells me mortals would interpret this a specific way,” he says as they settle on the grass at the bank of the Lethe. He pours them both a glass. “I intend it to be an offering of friendship, and nothing more.”

Achilles takes the offered glass. “Thank you, friend,” he says easily. “My heart belongs to another, regardless.” 

He’s never had ambrosia before, almost afraid to drink it. Does he want to remember right here, right now? 

They both end up sitting there, staring into their cups without drinking. 

“They call you the forgotten hero,” Asterius says. “It is strange to me - have so many forgotten you, the great Achilles?” 

Achilles scoffs. “The gods, perhaps.” He takes a small sip, to ease the pain of his next words. “They forgot their promises, or perhaps withdrew them, and cast me into Tartarus.” 

“And yet you are here,” the bull says, taking a sip from his cup as well. “I was not brought here, originally. It was Theseus who petitioned to move me here; I owe him my life.” 

Achilles looks at him, studying him. It’s rude to ask about a man’s death, but he is fairly certain it was Theseus who slew him in the first place. “I don’t even know how I ended up here. One day I was in Tartarus, the next…” he gestures to the river, takes another sip of ambrosia. 

He’s fairly certain this was not the intent of the drink of the gods, to use it to take the edge off the pain of the conversation, but he also doesn’t particularly care. 

“As I understand it, hero, it’s not a request Lord Hades grants lightly.” The bull gives him a considering look. “Someone is looking out for you.” 

Achilles laughs hollowly. “I betrayed the only person who could have cared about me that much.” 

Asterius look sat him. “The King and I were once mortal enemies. Humans have an endless ability to forgive one another for past transgressions. Perhaps you aren’t giving your companion enough credit.” 

Achilles nods. “Perhaps.” 

After a moment of quiet, the conversation drifts to less heavy topics before his new friend has to leave for another bout in the stadium. 

Perhaps Elysium isn’t as bad as it seemed.

_Did he think of them  
as he soared  
or did Icarus simply feel free?  
as he embraced his own fate,  
even as he fell_

* * *

The next time Patroclus and Zagreus were scheduled to train together, Zagreus leads him not to the training area, but instead to the second-story courtyard just outside his room. “Can you help me with this window?” he asks, gesturing to an absolutely massive window that overlooked the front door of the house. “I don’t want to just smash it if I can avoid it…” 

Patroclus’ heart clenches as he helps Zagreus remove the glass pane and prop it up against the wall. “So this is how you plan on heading out, then?”

Zagreus nods. “I know I can’t take the time to say goodbye to everyone - I haven’t seen Than in weeks, and if I tried, I’m sure my father would get wind of it, but I wanted to at least say goodbye to you.” 

Patroclus swallows around the lump in his throat. “Thank you, godling. I would have… suspected, but I appreciate you telling me.” He looks his prince up and down, giving him one last assessment. He’s wearing his armor - not that he needs much, relying more on speed. The sword strapped to his hip isn’t his training sword, but truthfully is not a weapon befitting a god. It was something Patroclus would have carried when he was alive - perfectly serviceable, but not divine.

_You will know when the time is right to use them._

Nyx’s words from so long ago echo back in his mind. He hadn’t really understood at the time why he might want to take the weapons from the cabinet but now, now he understood. 

“Wait here a moment, Zagreus, would you?” 

He nods, brow furrowing, and Patroclus makes his way to the training room. Thankfully he does not have to pass through the Great Hall to do so. 

The sword, which hums its name - _Stygius_ \- when he picks it up, is the most logical choice. It was, after all, Zagreus’ favored weapon. 

Even though the path is clear, he wraps it in his cloak and hurries back to where Zagreus is waiting. “Take off that sword,” he says, going down to one knee to unwrap the cloak from Stygius. 

Zagreus doesn’t ask, simply removes the sword and scabbard. After years of training with Patroclus, he knows that his mentor would never ask such a thing of him lightly. 

“Here, godling, a weapon befitting your station,” he says, standing up and carefully reaching around Zagreus to buckle the sword to his waist. “Its name is Stygius, and it has served many gods and mortals before you and will serve many after you, but you should take care care of it while it’s in your care.” He takes a step back so Zagreus can pull the sword out. 

They both inhale sharply when he does, the power emanating from it undeniable. 

“Sir, where did you get this? I can’t ask you to give this to me -” he starts and sheathes the weapon.

Patroclus puts a finger on Zagreus’ lips. “You didn’t ask, godling. I won’t get in trouble for it, either,” he reassures him. “There’s one more thing I had for you.” 

It seems almost insignificant now, the little broken spear point that had followed him into the afterlife, but he still ties the leather cord around Zagreus’ neck so it’s tucked into his chiton. “It should help protect you, just a little.”

“Sir…” Zagreus pulls out the spear point to look at it, then tucks it back into his chiton. “Thank you. You’ve done so much for me, I can never hope to repay you.” 

“You’ve got to take your own path,” Patroclus tells him. “I will never begrudge you that.” 

Zagreus nods. “I’ll be heading out then, I figure folks won’t notice if I’m not around at least for a while, if they expect me to be training with you still.”

“Of course. I’ll probably go to the training room until my next shift, provide you with a little more cover. And godling, if you happen upon a shade by the name of Achilles in Elysium…” Patroclus pauses, not sure how to say what he wants to say. He hopes, for Zagreus’ sake, that he will never have to darken the halls of this house again, so Patroclus doesn’t want to ask Zagreus to carry a message to him, afraid it would only re-open old wounds. “Will you make sure he’s taken care of? That he wants for nothing?”

It’s an absurd request, on its face. In Elysium, no one wants for anything, that is the point of paradise, after all. 

But Zagreus’ confident smile softens and he reaches out to clasp Patroclus’ shoulder. “I will, sir. Thank you for everything.” 

Patroclus pulls him into a hug. “Of course, my little godling.” He’s a little surprised at how even his voice stays. 

He keeps a stiff lip as Zagreus pulls away, hauls himself into the window that leads out into Tartarus, and leaps down into the unknown.

Patroclus takes a deep breath and turns away. Then, and only then, does he allow himself to cry.

_How did he feel when he learned  
his fate was tied to someone else.  
and his life was doomed  
even before it began._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My plan for updates is weeklyish. Chapter 2 is mostly done, 3 is outlined. I can also drop the full Icarus hymn in a fourth chapter if folks want. 
> 
> I will delete any hint of purity policing in the comments without warning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two was originally longer, and then I sketched out the Hymn to Icarus for this chapter and, well. You'll see.

When he goes to stand guard in the west hall, he manages to avoid making eye contact with anyone. The house feels oppressively quiet without Zagreus in it. 

The quiet sounds of the house - the shades talking in hushed voices, Hypos’ snores, Lord Hades’ sharp orders - is not as comforting as it usually is. The lounge was sealed off while Patroclus was in the training room - apparently Cerberus had gotten anxious and torn up the room again. 

Eventually he’s able to zone out, still standing at attention, but letting his mind wander into a meditative state, waiting for something unusual to bring him out of it. 

It’s the sound of _splashing_ in the Styx that draws his attention fully to the house. Shades emerge from the Styx now and again, but being largely incorporeal they generally did not _splash_. 

“Wow, what happened? Says here you died to a Wretch? Is that even _allowed_?” Hypnos’ voice rang loud and clear through the hall and Patroclus’ heart clenches. 

He doesn’t hear the response, but he knows those footsteps, flame-kissed feet taking Zagreus to greet Cerberus. He buries his face in the hell hound’s fur, ignoring Lord Hades’ scathing remark. 

Patroclus watches intently as Zagreus walks towards him, maintaining a spring in his step up until the moment he is out of sight of his father, at which point his demeanor changes, sinking into himself. 

“I didn’t even make it out of Tartarus,” he says, unable to look up at Patroclus. 

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up so easily, godling,” Patroclus says, raising an eyebrow. 

Zagreus looks up at him, eyes wide. “You’re not disappointed in me?” 

“Not at all,” he says, pulling Zagreus into an impromptu hug. “I don’t think you’re capable of disappointing me,” he says, more to himself. 

“I’m going to keep trying, sir, I’m not going to give up so easily,” Zagreus says, pulling back from Patroclus slightly, but keeping one hand on his shoulder. 

Patroclus smiles at the return of Zagreus’ easy optimism. “That’s the spirit.” 

The smile is false, though, and he is reminded of his life. He and Achilles both had known for some time Troy would be the end for his erastes, but _when_ became the torture as the war was drawn out over the years. 

And now, he gets to watch Zagreus throw himself at the shades of the underworld until he somehow escapes. 

“Sir… what you asked me about Achilles…” Zagreus’ voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts.

Patroclus tries not to flinch. “I trust you, godling, I - I don’t want to know, in case you don’t find him, or if you find out he’s forgotten me or…” 

“I understand, sir. I’ll still make sure he’s taken care of.” 

“You’re a good lad,” Patroclus says, Achilles’ usual diminutive for his trainees sounding strange on his tongue. “I trust you’ll do it if you can.” 

“Of course, sir.” He smiles again, one of those brilliant, confident smiles that remind Patroclus of Achilles. “I’m going to try again. I doubt I’ll make it through easily, but I’m going to try.” 

“Just give it your all,” Patroclus says, and Zagreus bounds off towards his chambers.

He wonders how many more times he’s going to break his heart watching Zagreus walk away, not knowing if he’ll ever see the godling again.

_Sing to me, o muse,  
of the follies of Icarus and the Sun  
and how they broke each other  
and never had the chance  
to make each other whole_

* * *

The days (weeks, months, years) bleed together. Achilles fights, rests, fights again. 

(He thinks Elysium is not so different from Tartarus, in that aspect.) 

Visits from Asterius are the only thing to break up the monotony. 

Of course, Achilles’ life has never been so simple, and he never had a break from the gods’ meddling when he was alive. 

It was pure hubris to think his afterlife would be any different. 

The gods decide to make themselves known once more in the most dramatic way possible. 

He strode into Achilles’ chamber, feet and laurels aflame, mismatched red and green eyes bright. He carried Achilles’ own spear slung casually over his shoulders.

Achilles knows trouble when he sees it, grateful he is wearing all his armor, including his helmet, hoping it would stave off recognition for a while longer. 

He’s not sure he can live with the gods’ meddling again, but he supposes he’s never had a choice so why would have one now? 

Achilles does the only thing he knows how to do: he offers to spar with the god. 

And it should have been easy - the young warrior (who had introduced himself as Zagreus) was too new to fighting to be a challenge to someone like Achilles. 

Except. 

In case it wasn’t clear this was the gods trying to mess with Achilles’ peaceful afterlife, there was one more smack in the face. 

The warrior fought like a Myrmidon. 

He’s never met a god who fought like one of his brothers before.

And it breaks something in him as he concedes the match, unable to keep going. He’s not sure how long it’s been since he’s seen a Myrmidon in the Elysian fields, but it’s been too long and the emotions threaten to overwhelm him.

“You fight like a Myrmidon,” he says, voice strained. 

“My mentor was one in life,” Zagreus says, ducking his head. “Sir, maybe you can answer a question for me?” 

Achilles nods his assent. 

“My mentor asked me to look for someone for him in Elysium and you’re the first shade here who hasn’t tried to kill me. Do you know of a Myrmidon by the name of Achilles, sir?”

When he first arrived, it was rare his sparring partners didn’t know his name - too many eager to try their hand at sparring with the great Achilles, but more recently, he’s become less of a name and more of a _fixture_ in Elysium - even if shades don’t know who he is, they know to seek him out for some less-deadly fighting practice. 

He never asks their names, and they never ask him his. 

He has long ago given up any notions of glory, name recognition. He is perfectly content to disappear into obscurity on the edge of Elysium, seeking out nothing for himself but allowing folks to come to him. 

“What does your mentor want with Achilles?” he asks. He knows he is speaking to a god; there is no use in lying, but perhaps he can learn why before he upends his life again.

“He just wants me to see that he’s looked after, wants for nothing.” 

Achilles bows his head and takes off his helmet, allowing his blond hair to fall freely around his face. A Myrmidon mentor who had asked after him. If it’s true, there is no reason not to let his brother-in-arms know he’s okay. “No one wants for anything in Elysium, young warrior,” he says, delaying the inevitable. “But rest assured I am comfortable; I want for nothing here.”

The young man’s eyes grow wide. “Thank you, sir,” he says. “Can I at least offer you this bottle of nectar as thanks?” 

Achilles smiles - he might not _want_ for anything, but he also won’t turn down the rare comfort. “Here, for your troubles,” he says, pulling off the single bracer he wears. He takes one of the warrior’s arms to secure it around him. “If you are to fight like a Myrmidon, you can wear our regalia with pride.” 

“Thank you, sir,” he says. “I might visit again, if that’s all right with you.” 

“It would be a pleasure to spar with you again,” Achilles says, then tosses him some jerky he got at some point or another. “But I don’t want to see you around here too soon.” 

“Yes, sir,” he says with another nod of thanks before taking off to another area. 

Achilles knows a god when he sees one, even he doesn’t know enough about the Cthonic deities to place the young man. 

He doesn’t want to get entangled in the affairs of gods, not again, but it’s hard to deny him when one of Achilles’ brothers has already helped him. 

He wonders, idly, who had helped him - who would ask after him - but he doesn’t let the thought linger.

_did Icarus know the Fates had decided for him  
that they meddled in his life  
that he never had a choice  
until the end, when he chose to live and fly_

* * *

Patroclus finds himself growing restless at his post. While he’s not one to fidget, he becomes uncannily aware of every sound the Styx makes, listening for his (and when did Zagreus become _his_ ) godling to come back. He’s done everything he can to help Zagreus, including ensuring he has all the gods’ weapons available to him, but it doesn’t help the ache in Patroclus’ heart as he waits for him to come back. 

Lately he’s been gone for longer and longer each time. 

Patroclus has been trying to steel his heart against the day Zagreus does not come back. 

But that is not today - today Zagreus comes back, casually walking through the house and greeting his friends. 

The spear he carries today is achingly familiar gold that shines so bright it’s hard to look at. 

But for Zagreus, he manages a smile, small talk asking about how the underworld is treating him. 

(Poorly, as one might expect.) 

Their conversations have been brief, lately - Zagreus too restless to stay at the house for long, though he always makes time for Patroclus. 

Time, and small gifts from ransacking the underworld. Sometimes things like the rug beneath his feet, bought from the contractor with gems and others… 

He accepts a gift of nectar with a quiet thank you, not quite sure what to make of the gifts. Zagreus has a big heart, and yet it’s hard not to read further into it. 

Zagreus turns to leave when Patroclus notices something different about his arm.

He catches Zagreus’ arm, thumb automatically running over the warm leather of a familiar bracer - the mate to the one he wears. “You- you found him.” 

Zagreus steps closer, letting Patroclus hold his wrist. “I did, sir.” 

He had promised himself he wouldn’t do this - there was no telling when Zagreus would break through and he would never see him again, and lose even the most tenuous connection to Achilles.

But Patroclus finds he can’t resist, he isn’t letting go of Zagreus’ wrist. “Godling…” His voice breaks.

“I didn’t know it was him, at first,” Zagreus starts, unprompted, apparently aware of what Patroclus wants. “He was in full armor, face obscured - not that I’d have recognized him anyway.

“We talked for a moment, I can’t say I remember about what, and he offered to spar with me. Apparently he gets a lot of shades wanting to test their skills with him. It was a quick bout - he laid me out on my ass quick enough.” Zagreus grins at the memory. “Told me I fought like a Myrmidon; offered me a boon to make my journey easier.” He stares over Patroclus’ shoulder. “He was the first person in Elysium who hadn’t tried to kill me immediately, and so I asked him if he knew Achilles, because ever since I started getting into Elysium, I had been trying to find him.”

Patroclus lets out a noise that isn’t quite a laugh or a sob, but somewhere in between, tears falling freely down his face. 

“He asked me why I wanted to know, and I told him the Myrmidon who had taught me to fight wanted to make sure he was looked after. That’s when he told me who he was.” Zagreus reaches up to gently wipe the tears away from Patroclus’ face. “He’s doing well, sir. He wants for nothing, though if you want me to take him a message next time I see him, I’m happy to do so.” 

Patroclus closes his eyes and, for a moment, lets himself forget. He lifts the arm, and presses a kiss to the ~~sun-warmed~~ leather on the inside of his erastes’ wrist. And for that moment, just that moment, he’s standing with Achilles on Mount Pelion, with the whole of their lives stretching before them - a lifetime together yet to be explored. 

But then the moment is gone. 

He opens his eyes, and lets Zagreus’ wrist drop from his grip. 

“No, lad.”

_when did he realize he’d flown too high?  
was it when he saw his face  
reflected back to him in the water  
or was he so lost as to never know  
Getting to spend his last moments  
Euphoric_

* * *

When the young warrior comes back, their sparring match begins without more than a couple of words to acknowledge one another. The god is carrying Achilles’ spear again, and he tries not to let him get distracted by it this time. 

He seems frustrated, channeling that irritation into his fight with Achilles. He’s not sloppy in his technique, but he keeps closing the distance and getting their spears entangled with one another. 

It happens in the blink of an eye - they’re standing pressed up one another, spears crossed, and the warrior twists his, using the butt to get behind Achilles’ knees and sweep his feet out from beneath him. 

He falls back in surprise, and for a moment, it’s Patroclus laughing above him, about to straddle him and claim his victory spoils, turning their sparring match into something far more intimate.

But he blinks and it’s the young warrior standing over him with a grin, offering Achilles a hand up. 

“Patroclus?” he asks, hoarse. It was his favorite move to knock Achilles off his feet.

The god bites his lower lip. “No, sir, just Zagreus.” 

_Just_ Zagreus, as if the young god who stood before him was somehow less than Patroclus, a human without a drop of divinity in him.

But he supposes it’s confirmation Zagreus knows of his Patroclus.

“He is here, in the afterlife, though. He’s the Myrmidon who taught you.” It’s not a question.

“A guard, in my father’s house, my mentor and friend,” he answers anyway. 

Achilles lets out a shaky breath. He had long since given up hope he would hear about his eromenos, thinking he was lost to the Lethe given he had not heard a single word. “We were…” he starts, then stops. How is he to describe his beloved Patroclus to a stranger? The years in isolation had done nothing to ease the fire and passion, even if they had eased the ache of losing him. “Everything, to one another.”

Zagreus, for his part, seems to understand. “He doesn’t speak of you often, sir, but when he does…” He looks off into the distance. “The first time he’d spoken of you by name, it was when I was leaving the house for the first time and he thought we may never see one another again, and he asked me to look for you, make sure you were okay. But he’s spoken often of the greatest love of his life.” 

Achilles lets out a noise, not quite a sob, and looks away from Zagreus’ too gentle face. 

“Thank you for telling me - I haven’t heard anything about him since I died.” He swallows hard. “Is he… happy?” 

The silence stretches, almost too long. “Few find happiness in my father’s house, but he has friends, colleagues. He’s not alone, and he laughs occasionally.” 

“Tell me, warrior, how did he come to work at your father’s house?” 

“I don’t know, sir, I just know he was hired on to teach me to fight, and to stand guard in the west hall.” Zagreus gives him a small smile. “I… I’m trying to escape here, and there’s always a chance this will be the time I succeed, but sir, if I don’t, I’ll see him again.” 

Something akin to hope rises in his chest, dangerous and all-consuming. “I… tell him I’m sorry, and that I know it’s too little, too late, but if I could do it all again and fight by his side, I would. And… if he would hear it, please send him my love.”

_Icarus’ wings were made of wax and feathers  
but they are not what carried him so high   
hope and love  
are powerful, dangerous things._

* * *

Patroclus doesn’t take the gift of nectar Zagreus holds out to him. “You know, godling, if you were mortal, I’d think you were courting me,” he says, neither accepting nor rejecting the gift. 

If they were mortal, he thinks he and Achilles would have happily invited Zagreus to join them, at least for a night. 

But he’s not sure that’s what this is - he’s heard rumors Zagreus has been courting Thanatos, and truly, what could a ~~demi~~ god want with a mortal? 

The blush that creeps up Zagreus’ cheeks makes Patroclus second-guess the rumors. “It doesn’t have to mean anything you don’t want it to.” 

Patroclus smiles. “At least share it with me this time, godling. Tell me more about your escape attempts, my shift here is done anyway.” 

They head to the lounge, claiming a table. Patroclus pours them both a glass, then gestures to Zagreus.

“I’ve been getting into Elysium regularly, but the passage to the Temple of Styx is through the stadium and I have to say Theseus and Asterius are the most obnoxious shades I have _ever_ fought.” 

Patroclus snorts. “Are they really so difficult?”

“Asterius calls me ‘short one’ and Theseus calls me a _fiend_. They’re difficult, sure, but it’s largely because the Olympians are also helping them.” 

Patroclus grimaces into his glass of nectar. “The gods are fickle beings,” he says, pointedly ignoring the fact he was currently talking to one. 

Zagreus, though, does not dispute this, rather lifts his own cup in agreement. “I have a message for you, as well, sir.” 

“For me?” Patroclus asks, tension curling in his gut as he realizes who it might be from.

“From Achilles, sir.” 

He closes his eyes. “Tell me.”

“‘Tell him I’m sorry, and that I know it’s too little, too late, but if I could do it all again and fight by his side, I would.’” Zagreus pauses, studying Patroclus’ face. “He also asked me to send along all his love.” 

Each successive part of the message feels like another punch to the gut. “Thank you, godling.” He drains his glass and pours himself another. “I owe him an apology too, and while I’d rather tell him myself, I suppose asking you to tell him is the best I can do.” He pauses and looks directly at Zagreus for the first time since Achilles had been brought up. “And tell him I love him still.” 

“Of course, sir.” 

He reaches out and puts a hand on Zagreus’. “Godling, there is room in my heart for more than him, but even now I have not accepted I will never see him again. Maybe once I have accepted that, I can let myself act on these feelings, but for now…” 

“I understand, sir.” Zagreus puts his other hand over his, gently squeezing it. “If it helps, I’ll happily carry messages between the two of you so long as I am able.” 

Patroclus pauses at the reminder that this is still temporary, will only last so long as Zagreus is still trapped here. 

_Fear is for the weak._

A prayer, a mantra they had lived by in life. A reminder not to waste the time they had, and even if the gods had decided this would only be temporary, perhaps he should make the most of it while he can.

“Perhaps one more message?”

“Anything, sir.”

Patroclus looks around the lounge, but it’s late and the few shades milling about aren’t paying any attention to them, so he leans in, as if to whisper a secret, and presses a kiss to the corner of Zagreus’ mouth. “For Achilles,” he says, even if he hasn’t fully convinced himself it’s _only_ for his beloved erastes. “If he’ll have it.”

Zagreus presses his hand to the same corner. “For Achilles.”

_But perhaps hope and love  
were the only things Icarus had left  
to call his own_

* * *

This time when the young godly warrior comes to the glade, he is limping badly, seemingly barely dragging himself into the chamber. 

“Achilles, sir, I’m not sure I’m up for a sparring match today.” 

“Come, sit with me a while, young warrior,” he says. “I have some Hydralite here that should help some.” More than anything he just wants to see the god sit and rest for a moment; he looks like he won’t be able to stand on his feet for much longer. 

Zagreus all but collapses next to him. “Thank you, sir. It’s not been a fantastic run.”

“You know, young warrior, I haven’t heard what you’re trying to do.” 

“I’m trying to escape to the surface, sir. My mother is out there, and I’m determined to find her.” 

There’s a ferocity to his expression Achilles can appreciate, having seen it so many times before in his and Patroclus’ faces while they yet lived. 

“And how’s that going?” 

“I’m hoping to break out of Elysium this time,” he says. “Theseus and Asterius are -” 

Achilles snorts out a laugh at the names. “Theseus is obnoxious,” he says, predicting Zagreus’ complaint. “Asterius, not so bad if you can get him alone.” 

Zagreus laughs. “He still hits _hard_ , and he calls me short.” 

Achilles looks the god up and down, trying very hard not to let his eyes linger on his muscles. “He’s not wrong though, is he?” Granted, Zagreus was not particularly short in the grand scheme of things, but when considering his godhood, the warrior was _rather_ short. 

Zagreus sputters out a protest and then just shakes his head. “I have a message for you, before I forget.” 

Achilles sits up straight, not having been convinced Patroclus would _want_ to hear from him, much less send back a message. Heart in his throat, he gestures, hoping Zagreus will understand. 

“He wants to say he’s sorry.” Zagreus shifts a little closer, suddenly all but vibrating with barely repressed energy. “And that he loves you still.”

Achilles lets out a breath he doesn’t need, but was holding anyway. “He has nothing to apologize for,” Achilles says. _He loves you still._ How many years had he been waiting to hear those words. 

“There’s one more thing, sir.” 

He cocks his head. “What is it?” 

Zagreus fidgets, leans in closer, face starting to turn red. “Not so much of a message as…” They make eye contact briefly just before Zagreus presses a firm kiss to the corner of Achilles’ mouth. 

The gesture is so familiar he feels a phantom beard in it, and he gets lost in the phantom feeling of Patroclus’ lips on his for a moment. 

Zagreus, for his part, is as bright red as the flames on his feet. 

Was it because he kissed a near-stranger or was it because of something more?

“He doesn’t have anything to be sorry for, you know,” Achilles says, deciding to ignore the kiss for now, even if the phantom brush of Patroclus’ beard is haunting him. “I was a stubborn fool, and he took my place in the war, leading the Myrmidons when I wouldn’t.” He sighs. “I was tempting fate, I suppose, and they got tired of my games. I knew I was to die at Troy; we both knew I was to die there. Pat thought we could defy the fates by being smarter about tactics, but we knew - and perhaps if I had fought, we’d be together here, now. But I didn’t and he ended up dying in my armor, with a spear to his stomach that was meant for me.” He laughs, hollowly. “It wouldn’t have so much as scratched me. So what does he have to be sorry for?” 

He isn’t really asking in a way that demands an answer, more lamenting 

“I don’t know, Achilles, sir,” Zagreus finally says, face still a little flushed. “I’m just the messenger.”

Achilles smiles at that, sitting up. “Don’t mind my ramblings, warrior. I do hope it’s not a hardship to carry the messages back and forth.” 

“No, sir,” he says, the red flush to his cheeks growing slightly darker. “I… Patroclus understands, sir, but I can’t guarantee I’ll ever see him again - if I make it to the surface, I don’t plan to leave again.” 

“A chance with you is better than nothing,” Achilles says. “If you truly don’t mind it.”

Zagreus bites his bottom lip. “No, sir.” 

“Tell him, if you can, he has nothing to be sorry for.” Achilles sits up and cups Zagreus’ cheek. “And give him this - but if you can’t, well, keep it for yourself.” 

He presses his lips to Zagreus’, gently, but letting himself linger here for a moment before gently coaxing the god’s lips open and tasting him, for just a moment, and pulling away. 

“For Patroclus,” Zagreus whispers.

Achilles doesn’t dispute it, but he wonders, just for a moment, what he might have said if Patroclus was at his side.

_It’s hard to judge  
Icarus for embracing what few things  
he can call his own  
even when it lead to his doom._

* * *

Thanatos is standing by the balcony overlooking the river Styx when Patroclus gets to his post at the start of his shift. 

Patroclus pretends not to notice the golden stare boring into his core as he chats with Zagreus before another escape attempt, giving Zagreus another kiss (for Achilles, he tells himself, even though _technically_ Zagreus hadn’t gotten the chance to pass along the last kiss he’d sent). 

After Zagreus dashes off to go try and escape again, Thanatos walks up to where Patroclus is standing guard. 

He gives the god a bow of his head. The two have had a cordial relationship over the years, but it’s still rare that Thanatos seeks him out for conversation. 

“Has Zagreus been helping you as well?” 

He’d almost been expecting to be confronted about the kiss, but gods have their own views of relationships, so perhaps it was an unfounded concern. 

“Helping me with what, my lord?” 

Thanatos smiles just a little at the title, which is the reason he uses it. 

“He’s been… helping shades with their pacts and contracts; altering them to be kinder.” Thanatos frowns, as if he doesn’t completely approve. “I’d have thought he would help you.” 

Patroclus’ grip on his spear tightens. He wasn’t aware his predicament was common knowledge in the house. 

“It was… not something I’d want to reverse,” is what he settles on. He had been upset with Achilles, to some degree, for a long time. For putting them in this predicament, for not fighting, for getting him killed…

But it didn’t matter. Even all those years ago, he knew Achilles’ failings didn’t warrant eternal torment in Tartarus. 

And now, that the ache of their deaths and the initial sting of the separation had faded, he just missed his beloved erastes. 

“It’s not just reversing them - I’m surprised he hasn’t offered,” Thanatos says, brow furrowing.

“I wasn’t aware he - or you - knew, my lord.” 

Thanatos ducks his head. “I overheard Mother Nyx speaking of it some time ago; I assumed it was common knowledge.” 

Well, that explained that. “Please don’t tell him.” 

Thanatos nods. “I won’t - but you should.” 

Would it be possible for Zagreus to alter the contract without condemning Achilles back to the pits of Tartarus? Or is that too much to hope for? 

He knows if he tells Zagreus of his predicament, the godling will do everything he can to fix it.

“I’ll think about it,” is what he says. 

Thanatos gives him a considering look, like he doesn’t believe Patroclus, before disappearing, called away to his work once again. 

Patroclus can’t blame him - he doesn’t even believe the words coming out of his own mouth.

_And when Icarus’ body broke  
upon that rocky shore  
the Sun could only watch in horror  
and blame himself for what he could not help._

* * *

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking…” 

Another run - Achilles has begun to mark the passage of time with Zagreus’ visits. 

It’s pleasant, to have another person who isn’t a shade to talk to.

“Warrior, I doubt there’s much I’d mind you asking.” He hardly has secrets any more, especially when Zagreus takes messages back and forth to his beloved for him. 

Zagreus looks away, mumbles something under his breath. “I was wondering, sir… what happened after Patroclus died.” 

He thinks about not answering; Zagreus likely wouldn’t begrudge his silence, but it’s… nice, somehow, to tell someone. 

“I guaranteed my place in Tartarus, though I initially earned it before Patroclus died. I fell into a great rage, and nearly ended the war myself in the days after Patroclus’ death before Apollo helped guide Paris’ arrow to finally kill me.

“I had asked my men that, once I died, to mix Patroclus’ and my ashes. I had hoped it would be symbolic of us being together forever in the afterlife, but I suppose I was too optimistic.” 

He falls silence and it takes a long moment for Zagreus to break it.

“I’m sorry, sir, though I will say you don’t deserve Tartarus.” 

Achilles shrugs, not willing to argue with the son of Lord Hades on this matter. “It’s no matter, I’m here in Elysium now.” 

Zagreus looks thoughtful, reaching out to brush a stray lock of Achilles’ hair back from his face. “How did you come to be here, anyway? It’s not often my father would move a shade.”

“I don’t actually know, warrior. It was much like any other time in Tartarus, when the Fury Megaera gave me my armor and spear back and then sent me with Charon, who brought me here.” 

“I’ll have to ask her.” He smiles. “Any messages for Patroclus, sir?” 

Thoughts of how Achilles got here were chased away with the lazy kisses he gave Zagreus. 

_For Patroclus._

“Will you tell him, next time you see him, about our ashes? I’m not sure he’s been told.”

“I have a good feeling about this attempt, sir, but if it doesn’t work out, I’ll tell him.”

_Who realized first, the Sun or his Icarus?  
Did the Sun know of Icarus’ fate from the start  
or was he as caught up in the moment  
until the feathers began to fall_

  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  


_Icarus, oh Icarus  
what would you have done  
if your wings had held  
and you reached your Sun  
only to learn your fate was still the same_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FWIW, I see Achilles' chamber, mechanically speaking, working as a modified fountain chamber, marked with the same symbol as Patroclus'. Essentially you fight Achilles until one of the two of you is at 20% health, you drink from the fountain to restore any health lost (capped at the level you had when you walked in, affected by the various boons that affect fountain health giving) and then he offers you the same helpful trinkets Patroclus offers. If you're below 20%, he won't fight you, simply offers you a boon.


	3. Chapter 3

Orpheus’ song cuts out mid-note, which sends Patroclus to investigate what is happening in the Great Hall. There’s a familiar splashing in the Styx, but there’s something a little different about it. 

He isn’t expecting to see Lord Hades climbing out of the river, dripping with the blood red waters of the Styx. 

Everyone is staring, not daring to break the silence, as he goes to his room, the door slamming shut behind him. 

_Zagreus is gone._

Patroclus knew this day would come, but it was somehow different now that he knows his godling won’t be coming back.

He tightens his grip on his spear, walks stiffly through the great hall and ducks into Zagreus’ chambers with no one the wiser save for an understanding nod from Lady Nyx. 

There’s nothing different about the room, not that he’d have actually expected anything to have changed. The escape attempts had long since begun to blur into one another.

Patroclus had grown complacent, thinking it would somehow last. Zagreus was not one to give up so easily and had been growing stronger every time, getting a little further every run.

He should have known Zagreus would eventually break out. 

He tries not to be angry with himself for the lost chances - the chance to try and change the pact, the chance to tell Zagreus how he really feels…

Leaning his spear against the wall, he makes a slow circuit around the room, careful not to disturb anything the prince has left behind. He couldn’t say how long he stood there, too numb to the pain of loss to feel the grief some distant part of him knows he should feel, but it’s long enough he’s not surprised when someone else comes into the room, stuttering to a halt behind him. 

“I’m sorry, I’ll take my leave now,” he says, not turning around. He doesn’t know who will be behind him when he does turn, but he knows seeing their pity will break him. 

“Sir?” 

It feels like a cruel mockery that whoever came in sounds so much like his godling, so he turns to dispel the illusion it’s - 

“ _Zagreus_.” 

A prayer, whispered so only his god ~~ling~~ could hear. 

Two swift steps close the distance between the two of them. 

They’re in each other’s arms, weeping as they hold one another. 

Patroclus cradles Zagreus’ head against his shoulder as they cling to one another, putting one another back together through shaky breaths and quiet reassurances that it would be okay. 

He’s not sure who started it, but the gentle caresses give way to equally gentle, tentative kisses and he can’t bring himself to stop. 

He kisses Zagreus like he’d kissed Achilles, like Achilles had kissed him - like nothing else in the world matters and like they only have these minutes left with one another. 

But this kiss is only for the man in his arms; this kiss is only to be shared between them. 

He’s spent too long not letting himself express how he really feels to bring himself to care. Even if this is temporary, even if he’s about to see Zagreus out the window and say goodbye for the last time, he will not let him go without telling him how he feels. 

“Patroclus…” Zagreus says when they finally break apart. He has tears on his cheeks still that Patroclus wipes away, one arm still around his god’s waist. “I don’t understand.” 

“I thought you were gone, and I had lost my chance to show you. I don’t know if you’re here for a minute or a lifetime now, but I couldn’t let you walk away again without kissing you - not for Achilles, but for you.” He presses another kiss to the corner of Zagreus’ lips, much like the first time they had kissed in the lounge, but this one was for Zagreus.

Fresh tears begin to fall down Zagreus’ face. “I’m back, sometimes,” he says. “The surface… it kills me. I can’t stay there long, but I will keep going back to see my mother. I can’t _not_.” 

“I would never want to hold you here,” Patroclus says, kissing Zagreus’ cheeks. “Nor would I presume to lay exclusive claim to your affections, my godling.” 

Zagreus laughs, wet with tears but still genuine and it’s the most beautiful sound Patroclus has heard in a long time. “Nor would I yours, sir. I know Achilles will always come first for you. I don’t want to come between you.” 

And, oh, the mention of Achilles makes his heart ache. “You wouldn’t be the first lover we shared, if you wished to court him as well,” Patroclus says, pressing another kiss to Zagreus’ face. “No one can change how we feel for each other, and just because we’re apart doesn’t mean we have to be alone.” 

Zagreus flushes, pressing his face into Patroclus’ neck. “I’ll keep that in mind, sir.” 

Another kiss, this time to the side of his godling’s neck. “When do you have to go again?” 

“I was planning on heading back out, but…” 

Patroclus separates from him just enough to grab his hand. “Rest a while with me, first,” he says, pulling him towards the bed. 

There are no more words after that, just getting lost in one another’s arms. 

And they’re both still a little broken, still hurting, but they find solace curled up with one another.

_Has anyone thought to ask him:  
would you do it all again,  
knowing  
knowing  
knowing  
how the story would end?_

* * *

“I don’t belong here,” Achilles says, breaking the comfortable silence that settled between him and Asterius. 

He lets out a snort. “Neither do I, yet here we are. You, at least, were considered a hero in your life.”

The two of them often talk when Asterius comes to the chamber, relaxing by the bend in the Lethe, discussing the surface, their lives, their afterlives… 

Sometimes they sit in silence, sharing a drink, before one of them breaks it and says something that has been weighing on their mind. 

“There is a difference between being a hero and pursuing glory for glory’s sake,” Achilles points out. “Patroclus tried to convince me of it when we were alive, but I was a stubborn fool.” 

“And yet he loves you still,” Asterius counters, a continuation of the long conversations they’ve had about their respective other halves. (They both insist their other half is their better half, though Achilles vehemently disagrees that Theseus is the better half of that pair.) 

“People are far more forgiving than you’d expect, especially when faced with eternity,” Asterius continues, finishing his drink.

Achilles really can’t argue the fact. “I’m not sure I deserve it,” is what he settles on. 

Any reply Asterius may have had is interrupted by the gate creaking open. They both look to the chamber’s entryway to see Zagreus making his way in. 

“The King will want to know he’s on the way,” Asterius says, standing. “It was good to talk to you.” 

“Likewise,” Achilles says, giving Asterius a small wave as he disappears to the stadium. 

Achilles is surprised to see the young warrior - he’d thought Zagreus was going to make it to the surface for sure last time. 

Zagreus accepts his offer for a sparring match, but Achilles can tell his heart isn’t in it, quickly yielding to him. 

“All right, warrior, what’s on your mind?” Achilles asks as the two of them settle onto ground near one another.

He picks at the grass. “I made it out - got to see Greece, the sunrise, my mother…” His voice goes wistful with the memory and it occurs to Achilles it was his first sunrise. The next tuft of grass comes out with a lot more force. “But I can’t _stay_. I’m bound to the underworld. The surface kills me slowly, and my father is upset and making it harder for me to escape in the first place. So I guess you don’t have to worry about your messages not making it back to Patroclus, eventually I’ll get back there, one way or the other,” he tells his knees, now clutched tightly to his chest. 

Achilles winces. “I’d rather you have gotten out of here, warrior.” There is a lot he would do to wipe the look of pain from the other’s face. 

Zagreus shrugs, changes the subject. “I didn’t deliver you last message yet, sir, I’m sorry.” 

“You probably had a lot on your mind when you ended up back there,” Achilles says, wrapping an arm around Zagreus. “It’s not urgent.” 

“You’re not upset, sir?” 

Achilles presses a kiss to Zagreus’ forehead. “Not even a little bit.” The message was important, yes, but it could wait.

Zagreus leans into his side. “Mind if I stay here a bit, then?” 

“I’d be delighted.”

_to ask him:  
Would you lose it all again (again, again)  
just to have a moment  
just to have some ~~one~~ thing  
you could claim for yourself?_

* * *

Patroclus had gotten so caught up in the elation (and distress) of Zagreus continuing to return to the underworld, he had initially forgotten to bring up the terms of the pact he signed. 

Then it didn’t seem right to bring it up when Zagreus was still struggling with the fact he couldn’t stay with his mother.

But now, a few successful escapes later, things have evened out a bit more - just another part of the routine, and Patroclus finds himself thinking about what Thanatos told him. 

If the pact could be changed… 

Gods, just the thought of seeing his Achilles again makes him tear up. 

But he wonders what might happen if Lord Hades was to take exception to the pact being modified - would he completely dissolve it? Return his Achilles to the mercies of the Furies and Tartarus? 

It doesn’t matter, he supposes. It’s not fair to any of the three of them to _not_ ask if it’s at least possible.

The next time he sees Zagreus, he leads his god to the lounge to hopefully sit and have a proper conversation about what could be done. They settle around a table, popping open a bottle of nectar to share.

But Zagreus starts first, not with a kiss, but an actual message from Achilles. (He knows they all have so much more to talk about, but it’s so difficult to have a proper conversation through Zagreus, never knowing how long it would take him to track Achilles down - even though they were at least confident in the fact Zagreus would always make it back.) 

“He wanted you to know - he had your ashes mixed when he died,” Zagreus says, putting his hand over Patroclus’. “He also has expressed, several times, he’s not sure why you’re apologizing to him.” 

Patroclus sits back, finding himself irrationally jealous of his mortal remains. Why can’t he be with his Achilles like that? He can feel the tears in his eyes.

_Fear is for the weak._

“Godling, Thanatos mentioned something…” he starts, before he can over-think it. “He said you’ve been changing shades’ pacts.” 

Zagreus nods once, slowly, then allows the apparent change of subject without question.

“Yes!” he says, straightening. “When I regained administrative access, I was able to change contracts again - a benefit of being a son of Hades, I suppose. Sisyphus was easy, a complete nullification, even if I really should have talked to Thanatos about that one first.” Zagreus has the good sense to blush at that. “I’m trying to talk Orpheus and Eurydice into letting me…” He waves one hand in a way Patroclus is certain means something. “But they’re worried about what happens if the contract is completely dissolved; something about a more complicated set of rules and Eurydice isn’t totally sold on having Orpheus around _all_ the time anyway…” 

Patroclus’ heart clenches at the thought - he couldn’t have stomached just reversing it, but perhaps removing the stipulation he could not go to Elysium… It’s not like he’s on duty all the time. 

“…of course, there’s also the concern that simply _modifying_ a pact will have unforeseen consequences, like my father just deciding to nullify it fully anyway.” 

“I’ve never told you how I came to work here at the house, have I, my godling?” Patroclus asks, even though he knows he hasn’t. 

“No, sir,” he says. “I’ve… made some guesses, though. Achilles mentioned…” Zagreus seems to be at a loss for words, which is fairly new. “He remembers Tartarus, sir, and doesn’t know how he got to Elysium.” 

Patroclus flinches. “Godling, I - when I knew Achilles had died, I came to the house, looking for answers.” Zagreus’ hand tightens around his. “I found them, even if I didn’t like the answers.” 

“So you signed a pact with my father.” 

“Don’t misunderstand, godling, it was not easy - I was still angry with Achilles, but he didn’t deserve to be cast into Tartarus. And, to be fair, paradise was not much of one alone. So I agreed to work here and train you, and in return spare my beloved that pain. But I am barred from going to Elysium, and he is barred from the house. I did not even know if he was still himself until you brought back word.” 

“Sir -”

“It’d be so easy for me to tell you to risk your father’s wrath and change the pact, godling,” Patroclus says, staring deep into the cup of nectar in front of him. “Don’t for a moment think I don’t want you to. But what am I risking? Forever in Elysium isn’t terrible, all things considered. Who am I to tell Achilles he must risk forever in Tartarus for a _chance_ we could be together again?” 

Zagreus doesn’t say anything, simply reaching out to wipe away tears Patroclus hadn’t realized had started to fall.

_But in the end, does it matter if he would have  
because who would Icarus have been  
if he had not risked it all.  
just another faceless son,  
a footnote of another’s biography?_

* * *

Achilles smiles a bit when he hears the gate to his chamber clang open, even if it lacks the usual gusto that heralds Zagreus’ approach. The young warrior’s footsteps are more subdued than usual, though he seems largely uninjured when Achilles gets a good look at him. 

He calls out a greeting, leaving his spear where it is leaning against a tree. The two of them stopped sparring some time prior in favor of just spending time with one another.

But something is off this time - Zagreus settles onto the grass, one leg stretched out, arms loosely wrapped around the other knee, as is normal, but instead of settling down within easy touching distance of Achilles, he’s a good arm’s length away. 

Achilles mirrors his stance, waiting patiently for Zagreus to start talking. 

It doesn’t take long - he’s an impatient god, in the end. 

“I spoke with Patroclus about how he started to work in the house,” Zagreus starts, looking down at the grass.

“Oh?” Achilles prompts after the silence stretches out. 

“He made a deal with my father. He works in the house, you get to spend eternity in his spot in Elysium instead of being tortured in Tartarus.” 

Achilles stares, not sure he heard Zagreus correctly, despite the simplicity of the statements. 

“It’s a fairly standard contract, and the thing is, sir, I have the ability to _change_ them - maybe allow Patroclus to come back to Elysium for a time and visit you, but there’s always a chance my father takes issue and dissolves it…” Zagreus starts to ramble. 

“Zagreus.” 

“Sir?”

“Patroclus gave up paradise for me?” 

“Yes, sir. And he doesn’t want to risk changing the terms of the pact in case it means you’re sentenced back to Tartarus for eternity.” 

For all the words Zagreus had brought from Patroclus about forgiveness and love, for all the kisses and reassurances Zagreus carried to him… 

Achilles never told Zagreus he had his doubts that Patroclus could forgive him, but the doubts lingered and festered. 

But to hear Patroclus gave up eternity in paradise for him, so soon after they had died, he no longer has doubts. 

“He doesn’t want you to try and change it, because he’s worried I might end up back in Tartarus?” he asks, feeling a little overwhelmed. 

“Yes, sir. But maybe you could convince him otherwise.”

“If Patroclus asks what I want…” Achilles starts, then pauses. 

“Sir?”

“Tell him I’m finally ready to risk it all.”

_what might have happened  
had he lost his nerve  
perched on the windowsill  
and stayed?_

* * *

When Zagreus walks up to Patroclus in the west hall, it’s considerably more sedate than his usual boundless energy. He also doesn’t reach out to touch or kiss him as has become their norm.

“I spoke with Achilles, sir, about the pact.” 

Zagreus is being… unusually distant, which makes Patroclus only want to pull him closer, ask him what’s wrong. 

“And what did he say, godling?” 

“He sent a message, sir. He’s finally ready to risk it all.” 

Patroclus sighs, runs a hand over his face. “Is he?” he asks, more of himself than of Zagreus. The years since he’d last begged Achilles to risk it all keep the bitterness out of the question. “Do you think you can, godling? Lift the restrictions that prevent us from seeing one another?” 

“Yes, sir, I’ll try.” Zagreus gives him a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Patroclus grabs his hand as he tries to turn to leave. “Godling, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing sir, just wanting to reunite -” 

“Bullshit,” Patroclus says, hand tightening around his god’s wrist. “Zagreus, please, tell me what’s wrong.” 

“I- I just don’t know where I’ll stand with you both when it’s done.” Zagreus is refusing to look at Patroclus. “But doesn’t matter, I’ll work on fixing it - I might actually have enough diamonds to do it now.” He looks up, briefly, and offers another small smile. “I just want you to be happy, sir.” 

“Godling, I promised you there was room in my heart for both of you and I meant that.” He cups Zagreus’ cheek. “Yes, things will be different, but please, don’t assume the worst.” 

He smiles, but it’s still emotionless as he pulls away and goes into the administrative chambers. 

Patroclus tires not to get his hopes up, even as he watches Zagreus dump an unfathomable amount of diamonds alongside a piece of parchment onto the House Contractor’s desk only for them to disappear and the shades to produce a different sheet of parchment, which Zagreus reviews carefully before filing it away again. 

The smile Zagreus has when he approaches Patroclus with a bottle of ambrosia - the good stuff, from Olympus, he notes with amazement - is real. “Go, sir - Achilles is waiting for you.” 

He cups Zagreus’ cheek in one hand, then leans in and gives him a gentle kiss, not unlike the first one Patroclus gave him so long ago. “I’ll see you again soon, my godling,” he promises. “Thank you.” 

“Of course, sir.”

He takes a deep breath, concentrating on Elysium, on _Achilles_ and disappears from the West Hall.

_how much trust  
did Icarus have  
to leap - believing his loved ones  
would never let him fall?_

* * *

Achilles sighs at the sound of a shade entering his chamber. He hopes whoever it is isn’t looking for a fight - he finds himself less and less inclined to spar with strangers. 

There is no friendly call in greeting, or even the sound of someone moving closer, which piques his curiosity. Few people come to his chamber to admire the scenery - in fact, it’s rather plain compared to the rest of Elysium. 

But when he turns to see who has arrived, he finds himself as frozen in place as the newcomer. 

“Patroclus,” he croaks, staring. The armor and cloak are familiar enough, though in a color better suited to the House of Hades than what they wore in life. 

He wants to apologize, but first he will need to find his voice at all. 

Patroclus loses his grip on his spear, letting it fall to the grass, before striding forward and wrapping Achilles in his arms. 

Achilles clings to him, forgetting his divine strength and just holding on to Patroclus with his all. “Beloved, my beloved, I am so-”

Patroclus interrupts his attempt at an apology with a kiss, taking advantage of his slightly parted lips to deepen it. 

Gods, Achilles had missed the gentle scratch of Pat’s beard and mustache, the callouses of his hands as he grasped the back of Achilles’ neck. 

“We’ve apologized, my Achilles, please, we have both spent too many years alone to spend what time we have together apologizing.” 

Achilles heart nearly stops again. “How long do you have?” he asks. Maybe he doesn’t actually want to know. 

Patroclus rolls his shoulders in a shrug. “Long enough, for now,” he says. “Then I’ll go back to the House for my shift as a guard, and as soon as that is over, I will be back here at your side, where I belong.” 

He relaxes a bit. “You’ll be back,” he says. 

“Always, my erastes,” he says, giving Achilles another kiss. 

They held each other for a time, standing there without a care in the world. Eventually it is Achilles who breaks the silence. “And what of Zagreus?” he asks, as if they had been having a conversation about their relationship. 

In a way, they had been, just not out loud. For all their years apart, they still understand one another. 

“My little godling,” Patroclus says fondly. “He is afraid this -” he gestures to the two of them, and Elysium “means we will have no use for him, no room in our hearts for him.” 

Achilles lets out a scornful noise. “You’ve always had a big heart - room enough for all. I just wasn’t sure if… well, I don’t want to get in the way of you two if he doesn’t want me, or if you want to keep us separate.” 

Patroclus’ grip on him tightens. “The first is something you’ll have to talk to him about - but as for the second, I would love nothing more than to be with both of you - together. But for now, my Achilles, please.” 

Achilles lets himself be drawn into another kiss, and they forget about everything but one another, at least for now.

_few have ever had the chance  
to have a love so strong  
it defies the cycle of life itself_

* * *

When Patroclus finally has to leave Achilles, it’s easier than he expects. Perhaps it’s because he’s confident this isn’t goodbye, it’s only a goodbye for now. 

Back at the house, time seems to pass slowly. It doesn’t help Zagreus is trying to escape once more and is away when he gets back. 

It’s towards the end of his shift that Zagreus crawls back out of the Styx, muttering about the exalted shades as he shakes the last of the blood-red water out of his hair and chiton. 

“Godling,” Patroclus greets him. “How is it going?” 

Zagreus sighs. “The pact of punishment is getting much harder. I barely got into Elysium this time, sir.” 

“You’ll manage it eventually, of that I’m sure,” Patroclus reassures him. “Perhaps I’ll see you when I’m there next.” 

“I wouldn’t presume to impose, sir,” Zagreus says. 

Patroclus leans his spear against the wall and pulls Zagreus close. “Godling, you wouldn’t be imposing, but if you must talk to Achilles about it first, I am sure he would appreciate it.” He gives Zagreus a gentle kiss. “If you leave soon, you’ll probably beat me there. It’s not too long before the end of my shift, and I’d love to spend it with both of you.” 

Zagreus doesn’t look like he’s quite convinced, but he nods before dashing off towards his room.

_and a love that drives the lovers  
to seek something more   
than what the fates decided_

* * *

Achilles doesn’t have a way to mark the passage of time in Elysium, so it’s hard to predict when he might have another visitor. 

He tries not to let his time alone be spent simply waiting for someone to stop by, but now with the chance of Patroclus or Zagreus stopping by it’s hard not to get antsy as time seems to crawl. 

When he hears the gate creak open with a curse, he perks up. Only one of his usual visitors comes through that way. 

“Sorry, sir,” Zagreus says as he jogs up to Achilles. “I’ll be out of your hair quickly - Patroclus mentioned he was getting off shift soon.” 

Achilles takes one of Zagreus’ hands in his, appreciating that he doesn’t try to pull away. “Or, perhaps, you could wait for him here with me.” 

“I don’t want to take away what time you have together, sir.” 

Achilles puts his hand on Zagreus’ cheek. “You wouldn’t be taking anything away from us, warrior.” He leans in, giving the god a gentle, tentative kiss - the first they’ve shared since Zagreus has started to be successful in escaping. “Consider you would be a welcome addition, instead.” He pauses. “Unless you would rather not -”

Zagreus shakes his head and wraps his arms around Achilles, drawing him into a deeper kiss, giving him the answer he was hoping for. 

Moments later, when they hear Patroclus enter, they don’t pull away from one another until he’s come and wrapped his arms around them too.

_Sing to me, o muse  
the tale of Icarus  
a romance, a tragedy  
of man who so loved the sun  
he lost himself -   
and in doing so  
learned what it meant to be free_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with it. I've had a rough week but did manage to finish this finally. You can find me on [Twitter](twitter.com/lydiaRogue).


End file.
